


Parade of the Sun by everythursday

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Floralis Fati is a plant with the power to control time, hidden in the wild, and protected by a magic that strips people of their own while seeking to kill them. Hermione wants it to save the world. Draco wants it to save himself. Sometimes what we want can destroy us - and sometimes it can build us new again.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1





	Parade of the Sun by everythursday

#  **Part One**

**December 18; 4:13am**

Hermione fully believed she was floating in an abyss of darkness, until the sound of waves broke through her muted ears. There was a line of grey at the bottom of the darkness, disappearing as she furrowed her brow in pain. Her body felt drained and useless, head under in a well of exhaustion, and she _ached_. The world lurched with a sudden wash of water and she could feel wetness dot her cheek. There was a constant _woo-chuh, woo-chuch_ from what she knew were the paddles, and the boat she must be on lurched again.

She opened her eyes to sunlight, dark brown wood, and the length of an arm. She breathed in deeply, tasting salt, and something squeezed her hand. The sensation brought a sting of pain, and she blinked furiously, clearing the haze to focus on the hand slipping away from hers. Both hands were dirty, brown embedded within the wrinkles of knuckles and lining fingernails. Their palms were deep shades of red, inching onto the back of their hands in dried rivers, and almost black in the webbing of their fingers. It didn't work, she knew. She could tell by the thickness of the fog settling into her brain, and the slow stuttering of her heartbeat.

"What are we going to do with them?" She froze at the voice, shutting her eyes, and his hand stilled against her fingertips. She needed a plan. She needed to _move_.

"As soon as we're past the enchantments, we're going to clean them so there's no evidence. They'll be dead in an hour, tops, I reckon. We'll throw them over, and we'll go…wherever or whenever we want." Rich laughter followed, joyous and triumphant, and Hermione could feel the anger begin to swell inside her stomach.

"Think they'll swim to shore?"

"Haven't got a chance. We'll _Obliviate_ them in case any of the local lot find them before they hit the bottom, but look at 'em. Not a way they're reaching the island. Try your wand."

There was a brief flash of color, and she could feel the weight of grime leave her, her shirt no longer sticking to her skin. She could feel something wet slide across her chest and down her side, and knew it was blood coming from her numb shoulder and ribs. Pain blistered out around that merciful numbness, but these wounds were meant to spread and could never heal. She and Malfoy would be skeletons within

hours, and it was all his fault.

Her mind was like a free-fall, rapidly descending into the knowledge of what was inevitable but refusing to accept it. There had to be _something_ they could do if--

" _Obli--_ " Her eyes flew open at the beginning of the spell, determined to drag up energy and block, or fight, or do _anything_ to save herself. Malfoy moved suddenly, more quickly than she could flinch, and the short, bald man in front of him fell to his knees with a cry.

Hermione got as far as her elbows as Malfoy launched himself past her, and with a cry on the air, everything was a fog and nonexistent. Hermione blinked out at a pair of trousers, and her head felt light and freezing cold. There was something horrible that she had to worry about, but she couldn't remember what it was. Trying to grasp anything beyond the legs in front of her was like trying to clutch mist in her palm.

A flash of white, and then wide, grey eyes filled with something wild. Draco Malfoy's face rose over her, dirt and blood harsh against the paleness of his face. Hermione met the earth like a meteoroid, pain flaring, and shock making her spin. She gasped, but it was weak and strained, her heart pausing for too many beats before giving a painful thump. She couldn't move her left arm at all, and her right jerked and trembled when she tried to raise it. There was no energy to shove him away, so she fell back, her lips moving around his name as she tried to reach for her wand. _Malfoy?_ Why would _Malfoy_ \--

He shoved his fingers into his mouth, panic riding on the rush of her blood, and then he shoved his fingers into _her mouth_. "Valen--" he gasped, and then his face went completely blank.

_Valentine's Day, where am I, why is Malf--_ , a hundred questions crowded her brain, and there was a brief, consuming purple as she sunk her teeth into Malfoy's fingers, and then everything was dark.

**February 14; 12:23pm**

Hermione drew in a breath so hard and quick it sounded like a hurricane in her eardrums. Her eyes flew open, landing on a white ceiling, and her heart hammered in her chest. She turned her head, staring at the leg of her coffee table and the bottom of her living room couch. She was home, in her flat, without a hint of pain, or salt, or _Draco Malfoy_.

She raised a trembling hand to her forehead, blinking at the threads of carpet.

She had never had a dream so vivid. She would have bet anything that the pain had been real, and why did she just dream of _Malfoy_? She hadn't even thought of his existence in months - though it had been a nightmare, so maybe it made more sen--

Hermione quickly moved past the oddity of her dreams to the very real strangeness of the moment. She was lying on her living room floor, fully dressed, and her mouth tasted like the earth - something rich, but there was a crispness to it, like laying in mud on a cold Autumn day. She shoved herself up to a sitting position, confusion twisting her face. She could feel her wand dig into her thigh and spared a glance at her jeans. A squeak of shock constricted her throat and she launched to her feet, pulling in heavy breaths.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, eyes wide and fixed on the dark red stains in her shirt and the leg of her jeans. _Please be wine, please tell me I got drunk and don't remember, please,_ she thought frantically, raising the fabric to her nose, and closing her eyes on a groan.

Her mind raced desperately to recall the last thing she could remember as she yanked her shirt over her head and pulled her wand from her pocket. Her chest and the left side of her stomach were covered in a sheen of blood, and she wiped at it quickly, looking for the wound.

" _Scourgify_ ," she repeated twice, aiming for the shirt and then herself, ignoring the panic in her tone.

She stared blankly at her equally blank skin, and felt her heart pound twice before she ran for the bathroom. _Before the dream, before the dream_. Memories rushed at her in chaotic swirls of distant recollection and fuzzy images. Her desk at the Ministry, eating an orange, watching television, George making confetti stream from the hole where his ear had been. Ron, Dean, and…Seamus? Tripping over her shoelace and the taste of burnt food.

There was no cut on her body. She stared back at her pale reflection, and fear marched up her bones to build a home in her heart. She must have fallen, and that was why she was on the floor. That explained the hazy memories as well. But there was blood, and she hadn't cut herself. Maybe there had been an intruder. Or, her paranoia whispered darkly in her mind, she had gone insane and killed someone.

How many television programs had she seen that on?

_Calm it down, Hermione. Logical thinking. Deep breath. Yes. Logical. Log-i-cal._

She rubbed her hands over her face, feeling exhausted and hungry, and like her throat might fly away like sand if she walked too fast. She paused with a wince, slowly dropping her hands from her cheeks. A long, smooth cut ran down her palm, directly along the life line. It was bright red, raised and swollen badly. Just moving her thumb made it hurt, and she figured that said something about her panic earlier to not have noticed it.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the thin, ugly line. She must have hurt her hand on something, that was all. She'd probably tried to grab something to stop her fall, it had cut her, and then she'd knocked her head. She just had to avoid sleeping and check what day it was again. It was normal to suffer some memory loss when you receive a blow to the head, and also to forget what happened. A little post-bump confusion, that's it. She certainly hadn't _killed_ anyone.

Hermione laughed at herself, feeling for the tender bump at the back of her pounding head, and made way towards her calendar.

**10:21pm**

"I still say you're mad for taking your N.E.W.T.s early." Ron shook his head, sliding a Butterbeer towards her as Dean set them on the table.

"I was a year behind. I read all of the textbooks for the year during the summer--" Hermione started to explain _again_. The fact that she had to keep repeating this to him was making her head hurt even more. This entire situation seemed very familiar

\- she blamed it on the hard hit to her head, and the fact that she had gone out with the three of them almost a month ago.

"I remember," Ron muttered, his expression sour.

"And the professors let me move at a faster pace once I asked them. I was already running behind, so it was prudent for me to take the N.E.W.T.s when I was ready instead of waiting months I didn't need."

Most of the students in her year either took their N.E.W.T.s early through the Ministry, didn't take them at all, or only came back to Hogwarts for three months. They had to finish up the last month of their year they had had before the battle, and there had been advance classes set up for Defense and Muggle Studies - the Death Eaters hadn't properly taught those two classes at all.

Hogwarts was a comfort, but too much had changed and it had been time to move on. She had returned for her seventh year with only a few others from her original

year, and the common room felt empty even when it was full. Her two best friends weren't there, and though Hogwarts looked the same once they fixed the damage over the summer, she knew it wasn't. When Headmistress McGonagall asked if she wanted to take her N.E.W.T.s early, Hermione, Luna, and Dean had jumped on the opportunity. It could never be what it was, and it was time to put Hogwarts behind them.

"Are you going back in June? For the finishing ball," Dean said, raising his voice over the sudden wolf whistle from Seamus.

The pack of women barely spared him a glance before weaving their way to the bar.

"I think so. It depends on work." She felt very adult when she said this. "What exactly do you do there?"

"She files," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "They had to find someone who liked boring--"

"I don't just file, Ron," Hermione snapped. "I'm new to the Department, so I have to earn my way. They give me a lot of odds-and-ends until I earn a proper position. Then I can work at helping to build a better society and really change some of the pureblood laws that have been in--"

"All right, all right, no talking about work," Ron cut her off, waving his hands. "We're here to ignore the holiday with the rest of the pub. Let's talk about…"

"Quidditch?" Hermione supplied, barely restraining the roll of her eyes. They twitched oddly instead, making Ron's grin blurry as he raised his drink.

"Ginny's been kicking arse at Hogwarts. If they don't win the Cup, I'll be surprised."

"Yeah, I heard she was getting some attention from actual teams!" Ron grinned, and Hermione was pretty sure she had heard that as well.

Hermione zoned out, catching a sympathetic look from the group of women at the bar. Likely because she was spending Valentine's Day at a pub with a bunch of men who were obviously not her love interests. She was glad Dean and Seamus had decided to come to the pub that night as well, or it would have been a lot more awkward.

She and Ron had been together for two months before the shine of their relationship began to fade. When the haze of victory finally began to settle, and they found they weren't fighting for their lives and the world anymore, things became a little clearer. Ron decided to go work with George at his shop, and Hermione was adamant about returning to Hogwarts. She hadn't worried about it, since Harry and Ginny were making a tentative go of things while Harry was set to start Auror training and Ginny was returning with her. It would have been a small bump, and they could have made it work.

But then Hermione had started to wonder if they _should_ try to make it work. It had started with that stupid book she had found, and she had been caught between being pleased at his attempt and upset that he was changing himself. She had started to wonder if his lightheartedness was really that great of a balance to her own seriousness, and about how he was unbelievably thick when it came to her feelings or her side of the argument. He had different interests, and he wasn't the kind of person she could discuss her books with. In fact, most intelligent conversation or talk about textbook knowledge, and he brushed her off. Most of the time he didn't even care to try and understand and just ignored her when she got into one of her "fits". She didn't find his jokes funny, or his lack of ambition, and _Jesus_ , it turned into everything. It turned into the way he ate, and leaving the toilet seat up, and the puffiness of his face in the morning.

By the time she got to the last one, she decided a break was in order. She decided that maybe she had been more enchanted by the idea of them than the actual thing, and she was annoyed far more often than she was happy. After Hogwarts, she had said, and they had both sulked for awhile, and then he agreed. But she had been out of Hogwarts for almost a month now, and neither of them had said a word. She didn't know what either one of them wanted, and she didn't know if it was time to figure that out yet.

"Her-mi-one," Ron called, and she snapped out of her thoughts, meeting bright blue eyes across the table. He laughed at her, an affectionate look crossing his face as he clinked their mugs together. He nodded encouragingly when she grabbed it, and she gave him an exasperated look. He only grinned in response, and so she smiled too, taking a sip.

**February 17; 9:29am**

The pages fell away from her fingers and she quickly scanned the numbers, going three pages past what she needed before she stopped. Annabell, her partner for the assignment, was making some of the most annoying noises in her throat as she chugged her coffee. Hermione twitched her eyebrow and cut her eyes over to her

partner for three solid seconds - just enough to make her self-conscious without appearing rude. They were partners after all, and Annabell had been with the department for two years now.

Hermione sincerely hoped that Annabell's lack of a rise in the department was no indication towards Hermione's future. Annabell was still treated as little more than an unlearned intern. She had been partnered with Hermione to assist her on her first project, but it was still only the fourth one the woman had in two years. The meek-looking brunette, with glasses that ruled her face, seemed to have the same jobs Hermione did as a beginner. Fetching coffee, organizing files, and researching for other people's assignments. Tedious grunt work given to the new employees until they earned more credibility and knowledge - either Annabell hadn't showed much initiative, or it was incredibly hard to be taken seriously in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Hermione was pretty sure her assignment was a throwaway. _Dominus Temporis_ stared back at her, bold black against the golden page. It appeared to be some plant that hadn't been seen in over a thousand years. There had been a lot of rumors circulating the past two weeks though, mostly heard by undercover Aurors searching out the last of the Death Eaters. It was the duty of the Magical Law Department to look into it, but no one actually believed the plant had been discovered. If it ever existed at all, beyond myth and wishful imaginations. No one thought anything solid would turn up, and it was mostly a required waste of time that they dumped on their newest employee. Regardless, Hermione was going to submit a paper so saturated in research, with a search of dead-ends so thorough, she would blow their minds.

No offense to her partner, but there was no way Hermione wasn't going to be where she wanted to be two years from now. Changing laws, and making a difference - _not_ changing the lack of organizational skills in the department and making coffee runs.

"What do you want to do now that we know what it is?" Annabell asked in a tone that made Hermione think the woman felt she knew the right answer, and was waiting for Hermione to give her a wrong one.

"I'm going to make sure I know as much as possible about the plant. Nothing has listed its physical attributes, and the text in the other book hinted at it having other magical abilities. Once I know everything about it, I-- we can start to move forward."

"How do you plan on moving forward?"

Hermione gave an annoyed look to the words in front of her, and glanced up at her partner. Annabell had to constantly push her glasses up because of her small nose and the flatness of her cheeks, and every other time she would take them off and clean them. As if her glasses were dirty again in those thirty seconds. Hermione cleared her throat, working for patience. The last few days had been stressful, ever since her freak accident on Valentine's Day. She hadn't been able to get a firm grasp on her memories, or even remember how she had fallen. She kept experiencing moments of extreme dj vu; some to the point where she would stand there and stare for several stupid-looking seconds. The last one had been last night, when she was going home from work and had nearly face-planted before retying her shoelace. She wasn't sure if the weirdness had passed, or if she was just too concentrated on the assignment she had gotten this morning to notice.

"Well, we can compile a list of the plant's origins. So far, Germany has been mentioned twice. The Aurors are keeping their ears open to the rumors, and we should have a report from them by next week. That might give us locations as well. I'll have to wait for that list, and the conclusion of my research, before I can make a real decision."

"I see."

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Hermione liked to make informed decisions, and she had decided to go with her own instinct on this over Annabell's…experience, since they were first assigned. In fact, judging by Annabell's two years stalemate with the department, Hermione might be more inclined to do the very opposite of what she suggested or agreed with. No offense to her, or anything.

Annabell sniffed very loudly for a library, and ran her finger under her nose. It wasn't even a discreet way to ease an itch, but more a way to wipe off anything that might have come out. _Gross_. She could have transfigured some parchment into a tissue or something, at least. She looked up at her, and Hermione quickly schooled her features at the other woman's tentative smile.

"Found anything useful?"

Hermione stretched her lips back at her, and returned her eyes to the book. "Not very. I've only read accounts of it being in Germany, and that the plant can make you see the future when you touch it. If this was over a thousand years ago, it could have been an attempt at explaining a Seer."

"It's likely a myth, yes. Something with this kind of magic would have been revered, and people wouldn't have let it fade out."

"Unless they didn't know how to reproduce it, or no more grew where they found it."

"I thought you believed it was a myth?"

"It's the most likely, but I'm not ruling out the possibility of its existence," Hermione explained, gesturing down to the book.

Annabell shrugged and sniffed again. "What is your Seer theory?"

"It's not really a theory. If someone had such an ability, that no one else seemed to have, someone could have said it was a plant that gave them the power. I mean, one event could have caused this to happen. Someone hears a prophecy from a Seer and notices that they're holding onto a tree at the time. A year later, the prophecy comes true, and it's a magical plant that gives power to people to see the future."

"Hm. I think I'm going to get some texts on prophecies and Seers and see if anything is mentioned."

Hermione nodded. "Good idea," she muttered, bending her head to read.

Annabell returned several minutes later, shuffling the new books onto the table as Hermione scribbled on her parchment. "Anything useful?"

"It mentions a beginning in Italy, but nothing new. The author wrote another book with more details on the subject though, so…" Hermione trailed off, gesturing to the stacks behind her as she stood.

She glanced down at her notebook, wandering through the stacks until she found the right aisle. She was only two steps down the narrow opening when she looked up at the creak in front of her and her feet froze. Her left hovered in the air for two seconds before she slowly placed it against the ground. Draco Malfoy stared back at her, equally frozen in a mix of surprise and caution. She could practically feel the outline of her wand against the back of head, tucked into the knot of her hair, but she knew she wouldn't need it. She wouldn't trust Malfoy with a pet rock, but she trusted that he was a coward who liked his freedom too much to really try anything.

The dream flashed back into her mind - the desperation and panic on his stained face, and his fingers in her mouth. She had been trying to ignore the fact that it happened, but his presence brought the image back in bold lines. He looked a little taller now, his shoulders more broad, having done that last bit of filling out the past year. His hair was a little longer, and he didn't look skinny-starved anymore, but he

still looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

The last time she had really seen him had been a year ago, in the Great Hall, huddled alone with his parents, after the battle. She had seen him briefly after that, in a flash of hair and nervous hands at the Wizengamot. Harry had been there to testify to Narcissa Malfoy saving his life, and of Draco Malfoy's reluctance to identify him, Ron, and Hermione at Malfoy Manor. She could honestly say that she had hoped to never see him again in her life.

He started forward first, his steps even and his eyes diverted towards the books.

She briefly noted the lack of a swagger in his step, and the rigidness to his spine, before looking at the books as well. She watched him from the corner of her eye, though, and saw when he reached forward the quickly pull a book from the second row. Hermione paused, glancing down at her notebook, and let her gaze drift down the row of books, calculating numbers and the alphabet.

Her gut twisted as she looked at the book Malfoy gripped, squinting her eyes as if they could suddenly zoom in on the cover or spine. Facts flew through the front of her mind: a powerful magic plant, the ability to see the future, the rumors heard from pure-blood circles, the hints at greater abilities that she had yet to read about. It certainly sounded like the sort of thing Malfoy would be interested in.

She watched as he tucked the book under his arm, and her eyes flashed to his. His left eye twitched twice, and she recognized the suspicion mirrored back at her. There was a tense, awkward moment before his face went blank and his chin lifted. He turned abruptly, his cloak whipping around his knees as he stalked out of the aisle. The swagger was back, she noticed.

She waited until the sharp rap of his footsteps faded before moving forward, her finger running along the spines. She glanced at her notebook and then the empty spot three times before cursing under her breath, hitting her notebook off her thigh.

"Miss Granger?"

"Hermione," she muttered, giving a disgusted look towards where the book should have been.

"Do you want to check these out on the Ministry account? I'm rather hungry, so I thought we could get some takeaway and--" Annabell finally took notice of Hermione's waving hands, shaking head, and quick steps. "What?"

"I…" Hermione licked her lips, swallowed. "I think it's best if no one hears we're

working for the Ministry. They might get curious about what we're researching." "Oh. Librarians are--"

"No, no. It's fine if the librarian knows, of course, just…other people." _Draco Malfoy_. Like Draco frigging _Malfoy_.

The book was about Herbology, though. Judging by the volume, it was fairly comprehensive. It was not a definite that Malfoy was researching _that_ plant, of all the ones that would be in that book. He was good at potions, she remembered - perhaps he was looking up information for ingredients. _Or_ , he was after what she was after. She couldn't do much about it if he was. It wasn't illegal to research it, and it wasn't illegal if he decided to search for it either.

She would just have to keep an eye out, that was all. And put all the books about, mentioning, or referencing the plant on Ministry restriction. Just in case.

**February 18; 6:32pm**

Hermione had many skills, honed over a lifetime of research, studying, and practice. Among this long list was her ability to read and operate at the same time. The book would remain glued to her eyesight as she went to the loo, or made tea, or cooked a dinner. She never allowed physical need - beyond sleep - to get in the way of a good story, or good information.

Hermione had been an avid reader for most of her life. Her mum or dad would read her a story every night before she went to bed, and when she was old enough to read them herself, it would be under the covers with her key chain flashlight until she was so tired she couldn't see. When she was eight, she and her parents had visited Australia, and that little flashlight had been hanging from a display rack in a hut on the beach. She _had_ to have it, with all the urgency that children possess for _need_ of seemingly useless things. She still had it, shoved into a shoebox on a shelf in her closet. It felt a little tainted now; adult choices that took the shine out of the memories of her youth.

The dynamics had changed in the relationship she had with her parents. They loved each other the same, and after some time, they had understood. It was still hard for them to accept that she had been fighting in a war, that she could have died, and that they had been clueless. _I don't give a damn about my safety, Hermione Jane! I am your father, I'm…_ and then he had looked so lost, like she had ripped him apart and he couldn't begin to know how to put himself back together.

Her mother had cried, and kept shaking her head, and Hermione had cried too. Had cried about a lot of different things, but the memory enchantment the most, at that moment. It had been unbelievably painful to close the front door with her trunk packed and a war in front of her, and to know her parents didn't even know they were parents at all. That they had no memory of her entire existence, or their love for her, or her love for them. But they would be safe that way; unable to get caught, or to rush off with the braveness she had learned from them and try to help in a war they couldn't possibly fight. It had been better for them to believe she was never there, in case she was never there again. It was the best choice, and it felt like the hardest one of all. The consequences of it still echoed through their eyes.

Because there was a sort of fear there, now. A careful edge to their loving look, a stiffness to their bones if they caught sight of her wand, a displacement of trust that had once been so embedded. They grasped the power she held over other people, and they had learned it in the worst way. She had promised that the war was over and that she would never do it again. They had cried, and embraced, and repeated love like a chorus of bitterly happy song for days. But there was a crack, a splintering to the base of the family she had left all those years ago. Trepidation and anger replaced the awe for the other half of her world, of herself. Her guilt hung like rainclouds from her heartstrings, dark, heavy and thick, but if given the chance she knew she would never change it with a fierceness that would have blinded them.

Hermione's head snapped towards the living room of her small flat, the roar from the fireplace followed by scraping and clunking noises. She bit her lip, looking up at the clock on her kitchen wall. The cat's tail and paw pointed at quarter-to-seven, and Hermione groaned loudly, tucking a napkin into the book to mark her spot.

"Hermione?"

"Neville, I am so sorry," she paused as he laughed. "Just give me _five minutes_ , and I'll be ready."

She rushed down the hallway, throwing him a smile once she hit the living room, and sped off towards her bedroom. "Harry said you had some assignment for your job, so I came a little early in case you were buried in books."

"Well, I normally hate being so predictable, but at least now I won't be late," she called through the closed door, yanking her shirt off on her way to the closet.

"I was going to come an hour ago because I was so bloody bored. I really wish McGonagall would let me start my apprenticeship this year. Hanging out with Gran all the time is starting to get to me. My knees actually cracked when I stood up

yesterday, and I've come to really appreciate naps."

Hermione laughed, pulling on jeans and the first shirt she grabbed. "Ron told me you spent Valentine's with Luna."

"No, I spent Valentine's searching for Flobwiggles with Luna." "Flobwiggles?"

"Cousin to the Flobberworm. Apparently they live deep in the woods, crawl in through the ears of people and animals, and explode when they've burrowed into your limbs. The Quibbler was doing an article. So I ended up stomping through the woods with this protective gear her father made - which I'm pretty sure weighed about as much as Luna - and picking the buds off trees."

"That sounds…" Hermione tried, pulling her hair tight, and wrapping it up into a complicated ball of ties and clips.

Neville laughed as an answer, and the old springs in her couch squeaked. She hopped around on one foot, pulling her socks on and searching for her shoes. Neville was silent, and Hermione realized her coffee table was piled with books, all of them marked on the pages about a plant she wasn't supposed to talk about. No one outside of the department was really supposed to know what her assignment was about. The less people that knew about the rumors, the better, and having it spread that the Ministry was looking into it would only cause more.

She opened her bedroom door with a little too much force and Neville jumped when it hit off the wall. He sent her a glance over his shoulder, and she yanked her trainers on, watching him bend his head towards his lap. Too late, then.

"You're researching the Floralis Fati?" "The what?"

Neville grinned at her, as she rounded the couch, and shrugged his shoulders up.

Like a puppy attacking you with love after it chewed your slipper to bits. "I got curious. I'm going to be a Herbology professor, and you've got about a dozen Herbology books mixed in here. I won't tell anyone you're researching it - promise."

"Thank you, Neville."

She briefly thought of joking about Ministry punishments for friends who leaked

information, but a lot of things came rushing into her brain at the words 'Ministry punishment', and she stood in her memories instead. She closed her mouth on the image of Neville's beaming, bruised face in a small passageway, and smiled at him. Sometimes she thought of her friends and bravery, and it made her heart stop a little, and pride take the shape of her spine. Sometimes she dreamt of the room of soldiers Neville built, and then of him standing before Voldemort with the Sword of Gryffindor swinging from his fists. Sometimes she wondered where they would have been without him that night, and had to remember how to breathe.

"What did you call it? Floralis Fati?"

"Yeah. It has dozens of names, but it was usually called that. The will of the goddess Flora. The last hundred years or so, they started to call it Dominus Temporis. Lord of time. I mean, there are a couple different translations, but they all mean the same."

Hermione scribbled the name into her notebook. "I could probably…"

"You haven't… I mean… I know you can't really tell me, but if you've found it…" There was a spark of excitement so bright behind the curiosity and apprehension in his look that Hermione almost laughed.

"No, no. It's just research. It's curious, though, the way they talk about it in a lot of the texts I've read. Like it's…holy."

"But if it were true, if the plant was still in existence… Wouldn't you want to get your hands on it?" Neville looked as if he was daydreaming about it that very moment.

"I don't know if I would want to see the future. I mean… It would come in handy when it came to making decisions but--"

"Beyond that, though." Hermione stared back at him as he spoke, unsure if she should try to get more information from him, but he took the choice from her. "Time travel, as far into the past or future as you want - not just seeing it, but _being_ there. The ability to cure disease? Or, at least, to turn the body back to the point in time before it became diseased. And you read the story of Libitina and Lucina, right?"

Hermione blinked at him three times and released the breath she had been holding. She scanned the towers of books on her coffee table, the half-filled page in her notebook, and then returned her eyes to Neville. He was excited, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. Time _travel_? Curing diseases? Either Annabell's curse

had transferred to her, she hadn't found the right books yet, or all this information had been listed under the plant's other name. She had only read brief mentions on the other powers of the plant, but _curing disease?_

"Libitina…goddess of the dead, and Lucina, the goddess of births. Right?" "Right, exactly. Short version, this herb, or flower, or tree…people started to use

this plant. And every time it was used, Libitina and Lucina began to mold together,

into one being. They had to--"

"So death and birth? Together…" Hermione looked up at the ceiling, her brain turning quickly. "Wait, it has the power to kill? If touched, or ingested, or--"

"I'm not sure. Most people take the story to mean the plant has the power to birth the dead."

"Resurrection."

"Exactly, But even beyond that - I mean immortality."

Hermione fell back into the couch, staring at Neville's knee but not really seeing it. This went far beyond what she thought it did. Being able to see the future, any part of it that you wanted to, was powerful in itself. But being able to turn the body back to a point in time to save the person from disease, and even _death_? To bring the dead back? No wonder it carried connections to gods and goddesses, and why most books referenced it as if they worshipped it. That sort of power was… Well, most likely false. If such a plant had truly been discovered, she could see someone trying to keep it to themselves, but they would also try to get money for it, or use the power to rule people or civilizations. There would have been wars fought over it.

Unless it just died out. Or the person who discovered it died somehow before they told anyone where they found it. But God, if she managed to find it? If there was fact behind all these rumors circulating? A cure for _diseases_. No one would have to suffer like Lupin, and if it restored the appearance as well, then Bill, and-- Every disease in the _world_. The amount of people that could _save_!

Hermione's mind was absolutely spinning with questions and possibilities. She faced Neville, mouth open to ask one of them, any of them, when the flames roared up in front of them. Harry stumbled through, dusting off his shirt and raising his eyebrows at her. She gave him an almost bashful look after a glance at her watch revealed they were five minutes past seven.

"We were supposed to leave for dinner five minutes ago. I've been listening to Ron and Luna bicker about some Quibbler creature for the past fifteen minutes, and--"

"I'm sorry, Harry. We got a bit wrapped up."

Harry took a step to his right and swept his arm towards the fireplace. He narrowed his eyes at the frantic look she sent the books, but closed his mouth when she stood. "Dean and Lavender showed up too."

"All right," Hermione said, shrugging at the cautious look he gave her. "What were you guys talking about anyway?"

"Flobwiggles," Neville shot, laughing when Harry groaned.

Hermione didn't miss the curious look he sent her coffee table before throwing his arm around her shoulders, leading them both into the cramped fireplace. She popped her hip against his, distracting him, and threw the powder.

As they spun through fireplaces, a sudden thought occurred to her. Draco Malfoy, his knuckles white as he clutched a book and tucked it under his arm. A plant that could let you see the future, time travel, bring immortality, and _resurrect the dead_. If _Malfoy_ was looking for the Dominus Temporis, there was no limit to how devastating it could be if he found it. In her head there were red eyes and her best friend's body still and frozen in Hagrid's arms. Hermione could feel her heart pick up a painful beat, and her fingers curl to tight fists.

There was no way in hell Malfoy would get it before her.

* * *

#  **Part Two**

**February 20; 11:49am**

She shifted the stack of books in her arm, opening her mouth to the cold wind in an attempt to cool her burning tongue. The Styrofoam cup had felt lovely against her freezing fingers, but the scalding tea inside seemed content to singe her taste buds off. It was in this awkward, hunched, shifting, oddly bent, tongue hanging out of her mouth moment that she spotted him.

She almost convinced herself she was seeing things. The past several days had been spent immersed in research, as the new name Neville supplied had at least doubled the books on her coffee table. This left her with little sleep, blurry eyes, and a background of paranoia over how far ahead of her Malfoy might be. His face was turned towards his shoulder, half tucked into the collar of his coat, but there was no mistaking the condescending line of his eyebrows or the white-blond hair caught in the wind. She did her best to melt into the crowd of two people around her, and snapped her mouth shut as he turned onto a side street.

She shot a look to either side of her, her arms swinging with her indecision on what to do with all the things weighing her down, before she took off across the cobblestone. The tea was sloshing against the lid, and the books were threatening escape from the nook of her arm and chest with every step. She gave a remorseful look to her drink as she dropped it in a rubbish bin and yanked her wand out, slowing her steps to peek around the corner of the building. Malfoy's back was to her, leather gloves gleaming in the faint sunlight as he smoothed his hair with one hand and reached for a door with the other. The sign above the door told her it was an antique shop, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down.

Malfoy might have been rich, but she didn't think he would go shopping for expensive antiques to spruce up his bedroom. Not that she knew much about him beyond him being an ex-Death Eater and one of the worst prats she ever had the displeasure to meet. This whole situation reminded her of the summer before sixth year, and she wondered, again, what would have happened if they had figured it out then instead of when Dumbledore lay crumpled at the bottom of a tower.

She wished she had Harry's cloak at the moment. As it were, she had nothing that could help her, and so she resigned herself to leaning against the store and wait.

She made random, quick glances around the corner, and checked her watch an average of every thirty seconds. He was probably browsing around, and might even

purchase something. Perhaps he was shopping for his mother. She remembered a few antique things on her journey through part of his house, though she could have been delusional with fear and pain.

He was heading back when she peeked around again, his lips pulled up in a smirk and his eyes sweeping the road in front of him. She pulled back, sure he had spotted her in that split second at the end. Turning quickly, she threw open the door of the shop she was standing in front of and ducked inside. She went into the second aisle, away from the windows, and stared at boxes of quills as she counted in her head. He would be turning onto this road now, and if he had seen her, he would be heading towards the shop. He might be pausing now, and… Hermione held her breath, waiting for the sound of cold air being sucked into the small shop, but it didn't come. This whole thing would go a lot smoother if she knew what he was up to, while he had no idea about her. He would be more careful -- _too_ careful, maybe.

She counted to thirty and walked out, trying to look occupied while covertly scanning the windows. He wasn't there, or on the street when she exited the shop, or on the side street when she turned down it. She couldn't stop herself from scanning continuously on her brisk walk towards the shop, and the looks she received were mixed between wondering recognition and fearful suspicion. She thought briefly of turning up the collar of her coat and covering her mouth with it, as her eyes darted back and forth along the street like a true detective incognito. She snorted loudly at the mental image, and the old woman next to her pulled farther away.

It was the first time she had ever scared an old person before. She blamed it directly on Malfoy and how she was waiting for him to pop out from a corner at any second. Malfoy was probably a master at scaring old people and little children, as she doubted anyone else moved away from him in fear. At least not anyone who knew more about him than _Malfoy_ and _Death Eater_. At the thought of him scaring old people, an image rose from the depth of her imagination. It was the one that had formed after Harry told her the story about Dumbledore and the Astronomy Tower. In her head, Malfoy's hand is shaking and his face is the same as it had been in the Room of Requirement when the fire started. She could not imagine fear on Dumbledore's face. She doubted that it had been there at all.

A small _ding_ came from the back of the shop when she opened the door, and there was a distant muttering as she weaved through the displays. She didn't know what she was looking for, or how she could figure out what Malfoy was doing here, but…

Hermione's eyes narrowed in on the delicate vase on the counter, a woman

tucking it carefully into a box and murmuring several Cushioning charms. The woman was no doubt readying it for delivery, and since Malfoy seemed to be their latest customer, she was assuming he must have purchased it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's exquisite," Hermione sincerely agreed, tracing the intricate pattern with careful eyes.

"It is the first in a collection we have acquired from the Fifteenth Century. This is a Vietnamese--"

"The Fifteenth Century?" Hermione stared at the white ceramic, the delicate blue vines, and the way it _shined_. "What magical enhancements have been placed--"

"None at all. The piece was recently discovered from a shipwreck in pristine collection."

"A shipwreck? Where was this shipwreck located?"

"We were asked to keep that confidential," was the woman's tentative reply, and Hermione gave her an incredulous look. "We have documentation, of course, proving the authenticity."

Hermione took a slow step forward, staring at the vase again. "Does it have any magical properties?"

"Beyond its beauty, no." The employee smiled, her fingers flicking over the edges of the box, as if hesitant to take it away from their gazes. "We examine all of our pieces extensively and thoroughly for any magic, new or old."

"Of course," Hermione whispered, her brain too busy for a normal tone of voice.

Neville was flashing through her mind, and the only thing she could think for several breaths was _time travel_. Malfoy purchasing an antique from the Fifteenth Century in such perfect condition it looked as if it were made yesterday? Hermione didn't believe in coincidence - especially in this world.

"Would you like to be added to our contact list for when the rest of the collection arrives? W--"

"Actually," Hermione started, clearing her throat and treading carefully. "I work with the Department of Magical Law. There have been reports of thievery of

Fifteenth Century artifacts that might be coming into England. I need to know where you acquired this vase."

Hermione pulled her Ministry Identification out, showing it to the woman long enough for her to see the picture, the seal, and 'The Department of Magical Law'. The employee's hesitant look turned into one of surprise, and the flaps on the box were quickly pressed shut.

"If you'll hold for a moment…"

Hermione gave a nod, shoving her identification back into her pocket, and hoping this worked. The woman turned, quickly making her way into a back room, and looking over her shoulder twice. How had Malfoy found out about this? Perhaps his family was on one of these contact lists for when something really unique came in.

Or he had more contacts or information regarding the Dominus Temporis, which would be a very bad thing for Hermione. Perhaps the world at large, too. And if this vase was connected to the plant… Did that mean that someone had already found the plant? That they had traveled back in time, procured the vase, and returned a few minutes later with a new vase that was centuries old?

"Can I help you?"

Hermione focused on the short man, wisps of hair combed in thin lines over his balding scalp. "I work with the Department of Magical Law, and I'm investigating--"

"My assistant informed me. I don't have any information for you."

"Are you sure?" She gave a significant look towards the box. "It is within the Ministry's rights to investigate your shop, and all artifacts within it, if we must."

Hermione felt a small flare of guilt for this, but she _knew_ he must have information. She understood that it was still hard to trust the Ministry when it had only fallen from Voldemort's hands a year ago, but this was _important_.

"I have nothing to hide with my antiques. We are resp--"

"Except for this one?" Hermione asked, waving her hand towards the box.

The man considered her, brushing a nervous hand across his head. If the Ministry took all of his antiques to investigate, he would lose a lot of business. Even more so with the rumors and gossip it was bound to create. Perhaps most importantly, he must know that withholding information from them would directly implicate him in

this so-called _thievery_. This was the second old person she scared today, but she reminded herself that if this was truly about the Dominus Temporis, it really was for the greater good. She had to stop herself from giving him a reassuring smile.

"Andrick Cherkesov. In Russia. That is all I know."

Hermione nodded, stepping away from the counter in relief. "Thank you."

The man muttered something Hermione couldn't hear, though she doubted she would have wanted to. She wondered if Malfoy had managed to get this information from the man as well. Though the shop owner didn't seem the type to willingly give up information to a Death Eater when he was so concerned with the respectability of his store. Maybe Malfoy had just wanted to get the vase away from other people, in case they got curious and decided it was proof that the plant existed. He wouldn't want competition. _Or_ he thought the antique itself held some sort of knowledge.

"Two more things," Hermione called, and she was pretty sure the old man rolled his eyes when she turned back around. "It is best if we keep this between us, for now. Also, I want you to put that vase on hold, just in case it is connected. Keep it somewhere secure and out of sight. I might need to return to inspect it."

**February 21; 2:29pm**

Logically, she had started researching the name in connection to antique dealing. Luckily, she found out that the name was a store and not a person, instead of taking a Portkey into Russia and searching name directories for a week. Of course, it could have actually been a person and not the store, but she was guessing if someone had the plant, they would be covering their tracks. They might have even given a fake a name, or just lied about it.

With only one way to really find out, Hermione headed into the small shop and went directly to the counter. She planned on asking about the collection and try to coax information out of the person as she did it. It was too messy to use the Ministry fib within the politics of a foreign country, and she could only hope that the shop owner in England hadn't sent news of her before her arrival.

Hermione cast a Translation charm on herself, and when she began to turn her wand towards the man, he held up his hand to stop her. His eyes were as black as ink, dark nothingness, and Hermione quickly avoided eye contact. He raised his own wand, casting a Translation charm on himself, and she stared at the spot between his eyes.

"Hello. I heard that your shop recently acquired a very beautiful and valuable collection. Vietnamese, I believe?"

"Miss…" "Granger."

"How did you hear about this collection?" The words were in perfect English, but she could tell from the movement of his mouth that he was speaking Russian.

Hermione had expected this question. She had thought briefly of naming the shop in England, but if he had contacted this man, it would only confirm who she was. "My private dealer, Pravok. I decided to come here myself to--"

A tall, thin man came rushing up from behind her, his eyes darting everywhere to avoid the pools of black in front of them. He muttered something quickly, a rise and fall of sound to Hermione, but the older man's eyes never left her face. A woman came around the corner, placing two flutes of champagne on a display counter, and casting a Cooling charm on the bottle. All eyes turned towards the door when a rush of wind blew into the shop - two expectant, one blank, and the last confused.

Draco Malfoy emerged from between two large displays, and Hermione's stomach sunk. She had been hoping the man's reluctance in England had proved impossible for Malfoy, or not being able to get the vase, or hopefully getting stuck in the name directories if nothing else. He froze in his steps, like he had at the library, and long fingers paused in the removal of his gloves. He was surprised, but the wideness of his eyes quickly narrowed, and she recognized the angry glint as well as the rest of him. He looked expensive, his dark clothes immaculate and no doubt tailored. The buttons on his robe, the bold 'M' that formed the brooch of his traveling cloak, and his boots shined brighter than his perfectly combed hair. It was disgusting. It made her notice the wayward curls and scuffed trainers on her own person, and she glared at him harder.

"Draco Malfoy, by appointment," the woman introduced.

"There has been an error in your scheduling, Mister Malfoy," the man behind the counter said, and Hermione turned her head to look at his forehead. "Miss Granger, I know nothing about this collection you seek. The shop is closing now."

"I request a private scheduling," Malfoy drawled behind her, and she caught the dark undertone of his anger.

"We will send you another date through owl." The man waved his wand at himself, ending the Translation charm and the conversation, before speaking rapid Russian to the other employee.

"If you please," the other man started, gesturing towards the door, his shoes clicking off the floor. "The shop must be closed now. It is Olegushka's birthday today, so if you please."

"I do not _please_. My time is valuable," Malfoy bit, and Hermione snorted. He looked at her like he desperately wished he could burn her alive with his gaze alone, and she looked back like he would be dead before he could try.

"There was an error in your scheduling, Mister Malfoy. All my fault, you see, I am dearly sorry. The shop is closing."

The man behind the counter had disappeared, and the woman looked like she was going to down the champagne the moment they were out of sight. The younger man looked both annoyed and desperate, and Hermione scanned all around her for anything that looked new. Either the shop owner in England had sent word, or the fact that two foreigners showed up looking for the same thing gave them away.

Personally, she was blaming it on Malfoy. If he hadn't shown up, she might have gotten whatever information the man was obviously trying to hide. She was trying to do her job, and if the plant really existed, she was going to help a lot of people. What Malfoy wanted with the plant wasn't going to be anything good.

Hermione stood her ground by the counter, unmoving until Malfoy finally turned for the door. He looked like he had a board strapped to his back, he walked so straight, yanking his gloves back on. The employee threw open the door muttering about rescheduling owls and apologies. Malfoy gave him such a dark look, the man stumbled back two steps before stopping himself.

Hermione glared at the back of his head, the door slamming shut behind her, followed by several waves of magical reinforcement. The blond hesitated, took two steps, hesitated again, and then turned to face her. Hermione crossed her arms, discreetly drawing her wand from the arm of her robe.

"Following me, Granger?" His lips were pulled up in a sneer, and she caught the small flick of his wrist and the bend of his hand which no doubt sent his wand down into his palm. "Has stalking been legalized in the Ministry now?"

"I was at the shop first, Malfoy. It hardly makes sense to say that _I_ was following

 _you_. But I suppose you never had much sense to begin with."

"This from the one who just fucked up everything?"

" _Me_? I'm sure he'll be willing to sell me that end table once your noxious presence is no longer polluting the shop." Hermione tried for one last grasp at a cover, but she was positive he knew what she was doing there. Between the way she had stared at that book in the library, and then showing up at a random antique dealer in the middle of Russia… Even someone with Malfoy's brain could figure it out.

Malfoy snorted, and his left eyebrow rose so high she was surprised it didn't morph half his face into one of a stroke victim. "I'm a pure-blood, Granger. I wasn't the source of the _pollution_. I could smell your dirty blood the moment I walked into the room."

"Yes, and I can smell your _bullshit_ from--"

"Furthermore - the game is over, Granger. Stop pretending that we both don't know _exactly_ your reason for being here. Purchasing an end table is the best you could come up with? And if you were - what, did you sell your soul for the money?"

"Malfoy," Hermione laughed, the sound colder than the February air blowing through them. "We both know that selling your soul is more your specialty."

His face turned into a storm, like a tornado that stripped off the fierce hardness to his features. His knuckles turned white in the fist around his wand, and his lips pulled back from his teeth. She had forgotten how intense the hatred could be in his eyes, and she smiled at him, a stretch of lips to mock.

"I--"

"I know why you're here as well, Malfoy. If it's out there, you won't find it before me."

"Begging is below me, but just know that I would be deeply satisfied if you were to bet your life on that statement."

"I'm not sure what you deserve, but satisfaction was never it."

Malfoy sneered at her, both of them taking a step forward. She thought he was going to continue walking towards her, but he turned with her instead, both of them Disapparating.

**February 24; 2:29am**

Hermione buried herself in books for days. Everything she could find on the plant, in all its different names, was devoured by her. She sought out every obscure reference and interviewed authors and researchers. She even tracked down the ancestor of a man mentioned in connection to the plant over eight hundred years ago. It was always the same information, and the level of passion and excitement for it was the only thing that varied - from the careless, to the life's ambition. Annabell grew more certain that their research was a waste of time beyond a thorough report, and Hermione grew more determined. She kept reminding herself of the vase and Malfoy's sneer, and that it allegedly had _the power to heal people_.

She didn't really care about the other uses that had been mentioned for the plant.

In fact, those uses were dangerous, at best, if the wrong people were able to harness them. But if it were true that combining the plant with the right spell, or ingredients, could turn the body back to where it was before disease - in essence, _curing_ people of disease - there was no limit to the amount of lives that could save. She imagined the world free of disease, and she dreamt about it too - of a billion saved lives, of how happy Lupin would have been, or her aunt. It would be the greatest discovery. It would save so many. Hermione wanted that as badly as she'd ever wanted anything.

She had to find the plant before anyone else. Not just because of how dangerous it could be in someone else's hands, but for people and health and long lives. If the person with the antiques had one or found out where they grew, she could only hope the worst they tried with it was to steal artifacts from the past and make money off them. She had to track this person down, and she had to find the plant.

**February 25; 10:01am**

"We do not have a Vietnamese collection, or any new collections from the Fifteenth Century."

"I have heard from highly respected dealers and sources that you do," Hermione insisted, and the young man gave her another annoyed look.

When she had decided to come back and try again, she had been very doubtful of her ability to succeed with the Black-Voids-for-Eyes man she had first encountered. She had been relieved to find the younger man behind the counter instead, but he was still proving difficult to get any information out of.

"It has all been sold," he replied, after a pause.

"Then can you tell me where it came from? So I can see if they have any more."

He stared at her for a long moment, his lips pursed and his thumb circling the knuckles of his other hand. "No, I can't. That's confidential."

"I'm an avid collector of antiques. If you tell me where that collection came from, I will buy all my future antiques from this shop."

"If you were an avid collector," he whispered, a patronizing smile quirking his lips, "you would not limit yourself to one dealer or shop."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to think of something else to say, and relocated her glare to work at a more pleasant expression. Her eyes fell on a movement by another display case, and the woman with the champagne jerked her head to the left. Hermione blinked and let her breath out in a rush, swinging curious eyes back to the man.

"Alright, fine. Thank you anyway. And please let me know if anything comes in." The man gave her a nod, and she let her glare fully rest on his insulting expression before she turned for the aisles.

The woman was in the fourth aisle she wandered down, glancing up at her as she adjusted something on the shelf. The woman looked away, over Hermione's shoulder, and began walking toward her. Hermione stood there, looking at the angle and the way the woman seemed content on ignoring her. She was just walking past her when her hand hit Hermione's, and there was a soft crinkling sound and hardness scraping her skin. Hermione's fingers closed around the square on instinct, the employee's heels clicking farther away behind her.

She waited until her quick steps led her outside and halfway down the block before she opened her palm, and unfolded the paper.

**February 27; 3;54pm**

_David Yendell_ , the paper had said. _David Yendell, Newton._ She had not found a single David or D. Yendell in any Newton registry - all thirty-five of them, in England alone. She had decided to go and investigate in the towns anyway, and had narrowed it down to those with only Newton as the full name (seventeen), and then into ones with magical communities (seven). None of the people in the villages had any idea who David Yendell was, and the one reclusive and strange man in Cambridgeshire had nearly hit her with the wide swings of his cane, the moment she stepped onto his porch.

Before attempting an investigation in the remaining Newtons, Hermione decided that a physical description and perhaps some more detail was needed before she did anything else. It was the smirk on the woman's face when she reentered the antique shop that blistered reality into Hermione's skull.

"I had thought you and the blond man were working together." The woman shrugged, and a faint blush crawled up her cheeks as she stared at the floor. "He's very persuasive. But now that he's convinced me to accept money, I'm sure just the weight of it could persuade me now for you, if he comes back."

Hermione had to put her wand away to stop the angry sparks of magic from escaping her blood. Three days she had wasted in her search, because of _this woman_. Not even this woman, but _Malfoy!_ Malfoy had _paid her off_ to _lie_ about the name and town, and Hermione had been _stupid enough to fall for it!_ She should have expected something as underhanded from Malfoy. _Of course_ he would do something like this. If he were here, she would hex him into deformity, to the point that he would never want to step foot in public again.

"I'm not giving someone like _you_ a single knut. If Malfoy comes back, you're going to give him fake information as well - and you're going to put on the show of your life to convince him. I don't care if you have to act like you're in love with him, but you'll make sure he believes it."

"Oh? I'm--"

"If you don't, I might have to report back to the Ministry of England that you lied to and conspired against a Ministry employee." Hermione drew out her identification, shoving it into the woman's line of sight. "And if _that_ information gets out, I'll know who was conspiring to sabotage an official investigation of England's Ministry of Magic. Won't I?"

Hermione shoved her Ministry card back into her pocket, and took three deep breaths to calm her anger. _Malfoy_. He was probably ten steps ahead of her now, and all she had was a pointless investigation, bags under her eyes, and an angry partner who kept asking where she went for three days. She wouldn't fall for this again. She would do everything she could to sabotage him too. She had been so _stupid_!

The woman brushed her dark hair out of her now-pale face and gave a solid nod. "I will point him in the wrong direction if he comes back. And I won't tell anyone…about this."

"Good. Now, tell me what you really know."

She shook her head quickly, waving her hands. "I know nothing, I swear." Hermione stared at her for a moment and sniffed, storming back out of the shop. **February 28; 11:38pm**

She stared down at the parchment, her eyes blurring for a moment, and then read it again.

_Muggle London, Library, Tuesday at Noon._ She rolled the vial in her palm, staring down at the mist of memories. The parchment was thick and heavy, but the words were thin and messy. As if the person had been in a rush at the moment they wrote it, or when they learned penmanship.

She hadn't recognized the owl, or the handwriting, and had thought it might be Annabell before dismissing it. She would have signed her name, and anyone who didn't either thought she would know who they were, didn't care if she knew, or didn't want anyone else to know. It was mysterious and made her ill at ease, but after checking twice, there were no curses or hexes on the parchment or vial.

She was betting it was from someone involved with Dominus Temporis, which left three possibilities in her mind. The man at the antique shop in England, the woman from the shop in Russia, or Malfoy. She didn't think the man in England would send her memories, and Malfoy wasn't likely to request meeting up with her. Unless it was something important, and he had sent memories to prove it to her. It still didn't make sense.

**March 1; 7:41am**

Hermione stared at Draco Malfoy's back for two seconds before rushing forward to keep up. She had been almost positive that the memories would have been from the woman in Russia, but she was even more cautious now that she knew they were from Malfoy. If this was some scheme of his, she would know it this time.

An arm flashed out from an alleyway and grabbed the blonde girl Malfoy seemed to be following. She was jerked off the street in a second, and Hermione almost walked into Malfoy's back at his sudden stop. She followed him to the side of the walkway, automatically dodging the people walking toward her, and stared at Malfoy as he pressed himself against the building next to the alley. It was completely unnatural for her to be _inside his memory_. It felt like she had been forced to swim through a liquid that no one could identify. It felt personal, and gross, and uncomfortable. Like sleeping in a stranger's bed and having them watch

you the entire time.

Malfoy kept glancing at his watch, looking around himself impatiently. She didn't know if he was acting, or if he knew what was going on in the alley and was waiting for it to be over. She could hear a female voice yelling in Russian, and then another female voice yelling out before things went quiet. Hermione stared at Malfoy, watching the changes to his face. It was very odd to be standing in front of him, no disgust, anger, or hatred on his face. He was staring right back at her -- _through_ her

\- instead of expressing how much of a mar she was on the field of his vision. She almost didn't recognize the structure of his facial features. This whole thing was creeping her out.

Malfoy glanced at the same spot four times in less than twenty seconds, and Hermione looked on the fifth, spotting the two men walking slowly and whispering. She stepped closer to them, but they were speaking in Russian as well. She turned back toward the blond at the sudden yell from the alley. Malfoy fell forward into step just before Hermione could hear the sound of footsteps, and the girl emerged. The memory swirled before she could even make out the girl's face.

The busy street disappeared around her, colors spinning together and objects morphing as the light of day faded. Hermione closed her eyes, expecting to be pulled out from the Pensieve, but opened them again to a different setting.

It looked like a cabin, mostly empty except for the candle placed on a small table and the blinds over the windows. Faint light streamed in, picking up the specks of dust in the air and the warp of dirty floorboards. There was a boy, no older than sixteen, panting across from her. Malfoy's back was to her, and his shoulders were moving just enough for her to know that he was catching his breath as well. The boy wiped the sweat from his face, and fell back against the wall.

"Really, I'm telling the truth. I don't know anything. I get paid, I drop things off.

That's all I know. I'm a runner."

"If you get paid," Malfoy drawled, but there was a strain through his need for air, "then you have a boss."

"I don't know him."

The blinds over the window separated between two blades, like a finger pulling them down and sliding slowly to the left. Malfoy's wand moved in a deliberate motion, and the boy pushed himself farther from the window, fear flashing across his face. "But you know it's a 'him'?"

Hermione was stuck between wanting the information, and being angry at Malfoy's attempt at getting it. The boy was obviously young and scared, and Malfoy was using it like a weapon, adding onto it. Malfoy loved to terrorize people. It probably made him feel powerful to have people fear him - it seemed that wasn't a lesson he had learned during the war. Though, she could remember Harry telling her about Voldemort forcing Malfoy to torture people, and the look on Malfoy's face when he did. But it still didn't stop him from exploiting fear to get what he wanted now. Not being able to torture people didn't make you a good person - it just meant you weren't absolutely evil. She couldn't imagine that being listed under 'good attributes'. _I can't torture people_. Well, congratulations, on that. Score one for your humanity.

"I just figured! Look, sometimes people give me things, pay me to bring it to someone else. That girl I gave the package to in Russia…I had another one, and brought it to an antique place--"

"What antique place?"

"I don't kn-- No, no, I mean it doesn't have a name! They wouldn't let me in. I went there, they wouldn't let me in, and I got a note on my door the next day, telling me to leave the package on the table and go somewhere else for an hour. That's all. That's it, really."

"You never saw anyone?" "No."

"Why wouldn't they let you in?" "I didn't have credentials."

"Credentials?" Malfoy waved his hand in the air impatiently, his voice clipped. "A vouch for my trustworthiness, or…"

" _Spit it out_."

"The Dark Mark," the boy breathed.

"Fucking shit," Malfoy muttered, his jaw clenching. "Fu-- Write down the address.

Now. Hurry up."

Under Malfoy's heavy glare, the boy rushed forward toward the table, and the surroundings swirled again. Hermione found herself staggering into reality a moment later. She breathed out heavily, swiping her hair back from her face, and sending a look around the room. It was only used for Pensieves for Aurors and witnesses to fact check or confirm stories, and the room was usually empty.

Which was perfect, because she didn't need anyone to get too curious. She certainly didn't need anyone knowing that she was in contact with Draco Malfoy for one of her assignments. She still wasn't sure what he wanted from her or why he was showing her these things, but she was determined to find out. Storing the memories back in the vial, she left the room and headed for the library, needing a translation book before she could view them again.

**March 2; 11:50am**

Malfoy was already at the library. If Harry hadn't taken ten minutes to be convinced dinner plans were better than lunch for today, she would have gotten there before him, like she'd planned. He glanced up at her and rose an inch out of his seat as if to stand for the female, before he realized who the woman was and quickly sank back down again. Any sort of pure-blood chivalry died in the face of a Mudblood. He looked like a statue, he was so tense, but she imagined herself looking the same.

His mouth opened, and his eyes roamed the area over her shoulder like all the words he could say were there. "Granger."

"Malfoy."

She felt just as awkward as he looked, but she wasn't going to make this easy for him. After she had translated from Russian in the first memory, and done a little digging, she knew exactly why he had contacted her. She had contemplated what he was really asking of her, and her willingness to do it. It had been a long night of serious thinking before she had her conditions and resolve set. She was still wary of any tricks he might be planning, but as long as she was on the lookout for them and remained careful, she would get the information she needed.

"Let's get to the point, Granger. The less I have to endure your presence, the better." If that was how he treated the people he needed something from, she was surprised he got anything at all. "You translated the memory?"

"Obviously," she snapped, and he scowled. "You want the hair slide."

"We both want the hair slide, Granger. It's a means to our ends. You can get the hair slide, and I can get in through the door. We can only get the information if we combine the two. Or else I wouldn't bother being here."

"Neither would I, trust me." They both snorted, and then glared at one another. "I have conditions."

He leaned back in the chair, finally giving up the pretense of reading the book in front of him. "Make it quick."

She gave him an annoyed look and cautiously took the seat across from him. It was awkward to just sit at the same table as him, and she almost stood back up again. "I'm going in with you."

"Impossible."

"I don't think so, Malfoy. We'll figure out a way - there's no way I'm giving you the opportunity for another poor attempt at sabotage." He straightened up, his eyebrow raising, and she gave him an odd mix of a sneer and a smile. "If you think I'm naive enough to hand over the one thing you need, just so you can get the information and run off with it, then your stupidity truly knows no boundaries."

He pressed his lips together and his nostrils flared on a long inhale. He cocked his head, his eyes diverted toward the stacks, and his jaw worked. He was probably watching his plans go up in flames, and her look was smug when he turned his eyes back to hers.

"This is obviously a dark establishment." He spoke slowly, like it would take her a lot to understand it. She grew angrier with every additional second that ticked by as she tried to understand his point. There was a faint smirk on his mouth that let her know he was amused.

"I'll make sure they don't recognize me. I'll Polyjuice."

"Mm. Perhaps you can take a hair from Potter. I'm sure the reaction would be priceless - maybe they'll do an exchange."

"I would never put my life on the line for you, or--" Hermione snapped, before realizing that his tone had been more sarcastic and mocking than serious. "I'll take care of it."

"Since you fucking that up would be putting _my_ life on the line, I'm obviously not

satisfied with that response, or willing to accept it. As disturbing as it will be, I'll secure the hair since I highly doubt you have access to any person they would accept seeing in such a place."

"Fine, but I brew the potion." She didn't need him trying to poison her, or something.

"Fine."

"The hair slide - what is so special about it?" She hadn't wanted to ask him, but she couldn't find it out for herself in the limited time she had.

"I don't know," he said carelessly, like it was so far from mattering, she could have just asked about a worm in China. "It's been in the Crabbe family for centuries

\- though, after the war, I suppose it belongs to the Ministry. There is old blood magic placed on it, but I don't know what for. All I know is that it's extremely valuable."

Hermione had an image of Malfoy on his hands and knees, gasping out Crabbe's name with his ash-coated hands curling into a grasp that had been too late. She had to stare blankly at him for a long moment, trying to adjust the images.

"The young girl in the alley…she yelled out that boy's name, right? And that's when he told you about this antique--"

"It was my memory, M-- Granger, I hardly need a recount."

She gave him a dirty look, knowing exactly what was going to come out of his mouth, and what would have come out if he didn't need her help with this. "The two men said that this dark antique shop wanted the hair slide. How do you know they are the same?"

"Both said the establishment was in Russia, which is also where all the antique business seems to be coming from, and both said it was an unnamed shop with leanings toward the Dark Arts. You're not very good at deducing things, are you?" Malfoy gave her a condescending look and turned another page in the book, his eyes skimming around them for anyone coming too close.

"Almost as good as you are at being an utter prat, actually, which is--" "Hopefully better at it than your insults, for the sake of this plan. Shit, were you

really _the brains_ behind Potter's little adventures at Hogwarts? I'm sur--"

"Jealous, Malfoy? God knows I've seen enough of your plans put into action to fully grasp the scope of your--"

"That emotion to me is as foreign as a hairbrush is to you. I--"

"Foreign like the countries your brain must have left you for. If I don't have any brains for planning, Malfoy, I wonder why it is that you've actually taken ideas from me before. Where would that leave you in the order of things?"

His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes slowly turned toward her from the annoyed look sent their way by the girl walking past. He stared at Hermione until she had to actively stop herself from shifting awkwardly, and then he cocked his head, biting his lips for a moment.

"I bet that just tears you up inside, Granger," he whispered, his tone wondering but his look malicious. "The things I've used your ideas for."

Hermione pulled back, her chair scraping against the floor. A triumphant gleam flashed across the grey of his eyes, as if her leaving had been his goal the entire time. "I wasn't the one who tried to kill him. I wasn't the one who kept failing. How does that make you feel, Malfoy? I bet that just tears--"

"That your ideas failed, and mine worked?" He shrugged a shoulder. "Unsurprised."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, and leaned forward with a vindictive look twisting her face. "I mean--"

"Enough," he hissed.

"Can't have it thrown back in your face? Are you--" "You don't--"

"Excuse me, but this is a library, and I'm trying to study. If you could take this conversation outside, or hold it down, I would really appreciate it." The girl hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder and stretched her lips at them.

Malfoy sneered, his eyes tracking down from her hair to her shoes, and obviously finding her lacking. "Sod. Off."

"I'm sorry," Hermione cut in, before the girl could respond to Malfoy's rudeness.

"We'll keep it down."

"Thank you," the girl muttered, glaring at the blond, and moved to a table farther away.

"Just because they're Muggles, does not mean--" Hermione started, and Malfoy glowered at the tabletop, lifting two fingers to his temple.

"Let's just keep this at basics, Granger, before your voice tortures me into insanity. You bring the Polyjuice and the hair slide, and I'll--"

"I'm not bringing the actual hair slide." Malfoy slowly lifted his eyes to hers when she said this, his mouth clicking shut, and his fingers stopping in their attempt to rub the skin off his temple. "I'll make a replica."

"Are you insane or just--"

"They won't know the difference." "This isn't a group of Huffle--"

"They won't know. I'm not stealing the hair slide from the Ministry. It's illegal, and while I'm not surprised at all about how much that _doesn't_ mean to you, I'm not breaking any laws. And if this hair slide is that valuable and does have some sort of blood magic on it, I don't trust you to get near it. I'll put enchantments on it to fool them into thinking it has blood magic on it. They don't know what sort of magical properties are in it, so that doesn't matter. They--"

"I don't think I'm willing to bet that much on your intelligence, which--" "This is it, Malfoy. I'm making a replica, or nothing at all." She was adamant,

jabbing her finger into the table, and Malfoy swore rather loudly. "The

enchantments--"

"They'll test it before they give us the money and information--"

"I'll make sure it will take them awhile before they realize it was just enchantments. By the time they figure it out, we'll be long gone. Their initial testing will show them enough to think it's a real one. I've already looked up the proced--"

"If we give them a fake one, that will come back on _me_ and--"

"Oh, please. If you're really that worried about your…reputation," she said this like she highly doubted he had much of one to begin with, "then you can tell them that you were told it was the one, and then you tested it and it showed that it had blood magic within it. Their initial testing would have proved the same. And we should just ask for the information - not money as well."

"No, we will ask for money as well. The hair slide is extremely valuable, or did you not catch that when I said it before? Trading it for just the information will prove how valuable the information is, and it would appear suspicious to--"

"It might be asking too much. You could be overestimating--"

"I'm _not_ ," he bit, and his fingers started at his temple again. "We'll accept the money, and when they find out it's a fake, I'll give them the money back as well. You are the most infuriating, annoying, and--"

"Oh, yes, it's such a _pleasure_ to have to know you."

He stood, scowling at her, and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. "Just remember that you aren't doing me any favors - you need me for this as well. And make sure not to tell anyone that I've been forced to associate myself with you in any regard."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "I would be the one to suffer from that, if I did." "Suffer? In that case, feel free to do so."

"Your Death Eater mentality - how unfortunate you never got to charm the Azkaban guards with that."

He sneered at her, shoving the book so hard across the table that it smacked off her fingers. "Friday, noon. We'll meet here so I can check your _replica_ , and then we'll Apparate to the place. It's been grueling, Granger."

She glared at him as he sauntered away, and then looked down at the book and the picture of a hair slide that sparkled back up at her.

* * *

#  **Part Three**

**March 3; 3:02pm**

Hermione slid Charmfiguration: A Guide of Object Manipulation under her pillow before running for the door. There was another soft knock just before she pulled the door open and gave Annabell a smile.

"Come on in," Hermione greeted, stepping to the side and swinging the door with her.

"Sorry I'm late. I had to get something for my mother before I came."

"No problem. Do you want a drink?" Hermione had been completely convinced thirty seconds ago that Annabell's lateness could literally mean the end of the world, but now that she was finally here, it seemed a bit of an overreaction.

"Not right now, thank you."

Annabell hovered in the strange spot that made up the space by the front door, the kitchen island, and the start of the living room. Hermione liked to call it her _entry_ instead of her living room which made her flat sound a lot more grand than it was. _Oh, should I take my shoes off in the hall or the_ foyer _? Don't want to dirty the sitting room_ , Ron would grin, and Hermione would shoot him death looks for a good ten seconds.

"Have a seat, wherever." Hermione gestured toward the couch and rocking chair. Annabell looked like she had just entered a secret world of polar bear built houses, so Hermione moved first with an awkward laugh.

"I, uh…well, I'm not sure there is much to discuss." "Oh." Hermione halted, and turned back again.

Annabell nodded, pushing her glasses up, and dug around in her pocket. "I, uh…here, I made you a copy of the rumor list. There are some people and locations… Something about a Seer, a lake. The birthplace of Flora, as well, though it doesn't say where. I…"

Hermione took the wrinkled parchment from her and absently ran it between two

fingers to smooth it out. She stopped at the redness on Annabell's face and quickly opened the paper. "Well… We can start by seeing if any of the names are from any of the locations. Start with the most likely places…"

"Sure, yes. I'll do that."

"Great." Hermione had no idea what else to say, and instead studied the list like she were retaking the N.E.W.T.s. She closed her mouth and blew air into her cheeks, giving her partner a smile. Annabell's stare switched between her and her striped socks. "Uh, I'll find the information on Flora and arrange Portkeys to the locations. We'll have to go to all of them, but we'll start with the Flora location and any places that might coincide with names on the list."

"That will be a good start," Annabell agreed, fastening a button on her robe and clearing her throat.

"We can meet up here again…Saturday." Hermione winced, knowing that if she got the information she wanted on Friday, she would not be wanting to sit around the next day.

"Okay. Eight?" "Perfect." Sort of. **March 5; 12:15am**

She got there before him. He had taken twenty minutes in the bathroom checking the hair slide, while she held his wand in case he got any ideas. But she knew it was solid work. She had researched until she found just the right spells and charms, and had practiced for hours before she went into the evidence room marked 'C5' at the Ministry. The hardest part had been to act confident enough to get past the doubtful guard in the evidence corridor when she told them she needed to look at something for an assignment. It was _true_ , just not completely, and she wasn't sure how much the Ministry would approve of her approach. She had gotten the Polyjuice Potion after dropping into the Auror wing of the department with the excuse of visiting Harry. Her best friend was far too paranoid and observant not to notice she was up to something, and she would be surprised if he didn't drop in to visit her today.

Malfoy had handed her a vial with a single hair in it, and a black bag after giving a rather foul look to her jeans and jumper. Once she had secured herself in the bathroom stall, she had stared at that long strand of platinum blond for at least a full minute before finally drinking the potion. It took another five minutes to be

thankful she was dressing the only female Malfoy, and then to stare at herself in the mirror. It was incredibly unsettling to move in the body of Narcissa Malfoy. To stare into her eyes, smile with her mouth, and brush platinum hair from delicate features with perfectly manicured hands. It was strange and disturbing, but it still did not top being Bellatrix Lestrange.

Malfoy appeared as if someone took on his mother's form every day. With the way he looked at her, she almost thought she had grabbed a joke potion and that she could see herself as it, but no one else could. "Walk straighter."

"If I walk any straighter, I'll fall backwards," Hermione snapped, voice wavering in the beginning as she heard Narcissa's voice with her words.

"Pull your shoulders back a little, then… My mother doesn't walk like a whore, Gran--"

"Shut _up_ ," she hissed, walking faster to pass him.

He grabbed her elbow, his fingers squeezing like a clamp as he jerked her back. "Do not walk ahead of me."

Hermione remembered reading about pure-blood wives always remaining a step behind their husband as a sign of respect, but she had never read anything about their sons. She tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but it was a vice. "You're not her husband. What exactly do you _do_ with--"

"I would _highly_ suggest you not finish that sentence," he warned her, his voice low and hissing. It reminded her of a snake, which was pretty fitting.

"What are you going to do? And if you don't let go of me this second--" "What?"

It was a challenge, she figured, and the hitch of his eyebrow only proved it.

Slamming her foot down on top of his, she pushed all of her weight on it as she took her step past him, smirking at his grunt. She continued towards the door, but the hand that had slackened clamped down again. She was angry at the mewl of pain that escaped her throat as he attempted to crush the bone. Her elbow was pressed into his stomach as he leaned down, close enough for her to feel the ghost of breath against her ear.

"You've no idea how lucky you are we're in the Muggle world right now."

Hermione barked a laugh and clamped her own fingers into his wrist to try to release his grasp. It worked like her fingers were burning coals, and the second her skin touched his, he jerked away from her. "I'm the lucky one? You--"

"No matter what sick and disgusting thing you were about to insinuate earlier - I am her son, but I am a man who has reached the age of majority. You can walk beside me, but you do _not_ walk ahead of me. Not for a second. Do you understand?"

She stepped away from him and the weird heat of his body, finding it strange enough to be in his mother's body, let alone having him stand close to her. His body heat freaked her out - it was too normal, or human, or close. He straightened up, sending a quick look around them at the busy library. Did he really think that sort of intimidation worked? On _her_? She narrowed her eyes at him and raised her chin, which she guessed was likely a normal expression for the woman anyway.

"Please. Ladies first," Hermione muttered, sweeping her arm out for him to begin walking.

He scowled at her, refused to move for at least five seconds, and finally started walking. She fell in step with him, walking twice as fast to keep up with his long strides. She certainly wasn't walking _behind him_ , though. He opened the door, and took half of a step to the side as if to hold it open for her, before correcting himself. Seeing his mother's reflection in the door had probably tricked his manners for a moment, before he remembered it was _her_ , the woman whose arm he just tried to massacre.

"We'll go into the first alley." "Did you get a Portkey?"

His pace slowed just a fraction, which was the only thing to give him away. "No." "I haven't been there before - I can't Apparate. You had the address--"

"We'll Side-Along."

"Ha! Wha-- Ha! There is _no way_ I'm going to--" "You don't have a choice."

"Oh, yes, I do. We can postpone until--"

"The potion wears off in an hour. I don't want to go through this shit again. As much as I would love to leave your body parts from here to Russia, I would rather not see the inside of Azkaban again. Get over yourself."

"Coming from _you_

"Stop walking like a fucking Hippogriff." "I'm walking perfectly fine!"

"For a Hippogriff," he shot back, turning into the alley. "You're not speaking properly either. Just… This was a bad idea. Even with her face, you've still got m--"

"I know what I'm doing. They'll buy it."

"Yeah?" Like he would sooner believe she was sad Harry won the war. " _Yes_. It's nothing I haven't done before."

"I doubt that," he snapped, checking his watch, and looking up startled when she laughed. "What, you, Potter, and Weasley got bored one night and excha--"

" _Actually_ ," she spat, pulling to a stop when he did, "I changed into an employee to break into the Ministry when it was run by _your lot_ , and had to sit with Umbr-- And then as your good ol' Auntie Bellatrix to get into Gringotts. Thankfully I had a hair from her after she tortured me - but you knew that part."

He actually paled. His eyes were widened just a fraction when they met hers for a second before disappearing over her head. He shifted on his feet, and his hands rose to ease imaginary wrinkles from his coat. She expected animosity, something biting and cruel. She didn't expect him to avoid her eyes. She stared at him in confusion, and he cleared his throat.

"Just don't fuck it up, Granger." He held out his arm, looking like the movement left a bad taste in his mouth.

It was his left one, she noticed - his Marked arm. She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and gripped it tightly. She had seen his memories and didn't think he was leading her into some trap. If he tried anything stupid, though, she would make him dearly regret it.

"If I so much as end up with a missing eyebrow, I'm going to eliminate any hope you may have of continuing the Malfoy line."

"We already covered this, s--" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by her hand touching his arm, and he looked like the bad taste was back.

She opened her mouth to say something scathing and dug her fingers a little too hard into the thickness of his coat, but then they were gone. Hermione closed her eyes, counting past the feeling, and gasped in a breath when it was gone. Malfoy moved his arm away from her before she could even open her eyes.

The street was dark and shadowed, even at 3 o'clock, and looked like the Russian version of Knockturn Alley. Prostitutes catcalled from the shadows of buildings, and drunk men staggered across the cobblestone as they dug in their pockets. A man was smoking something that created purple smoke, and it smelt rancid as they walked by it. Hermione tucked her wand back up the sleeve of the robe Malfoy had given her, trying her best to look like she owned the entire street.

"Try not to talk," Malfoy muttered, leading them toward a black door, the number eight in dark blue at the top corner.

Hermione tried not to look at the people scattered about the pavement, because she didn't think Narcissa would be looking around in curiosity. From the side glances she managed to get in though, she was surprised to find glares and lips pulled in disgust. Everyone from the homeless man to the business man were making wide spaces between themselves and the Malfoys. If they knew the family, shouldn't it be acceptable to find them on a street mostly ruled by Dark Arts?

Hermione felt like she were on display, and she had to look down at her hands to make sure she hadn't changed back.

Malfoy didn't seem to notice at all, his gait the same and a small arch to his left eyebrow to prove his arrogance. It wasn't until he turned that she noticed his knuckles were white at the sleeve of his robe, and his mouth turned into a hard line for just a second when he looked at her. He swung the black door open and stepped aside, and she quickly entered in an attempt to ease her apprehension. She didn't like having her back to those people, and as nervous as places like this made her, the looks she received made it frightening. She didn't trust Malfoy at all, and combined with these sort of people, she felt like she had been stranded in a nest of Death Eaters. You knew the situation could be disastrous when the closest person you had to trust was _Draco Malfoy_. She would rather throw rocks at house-elves.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself what this was for. A man with a

long, drooping face was placing a jewelry box onto the top of a table. Static blue lines were zapping around his hands until he pulled them away from the box, muttering something under his breath. Hermione head jerked toward Malfoy when he said something in Russian. The man replied, his eyes appraising them like they were a new artifact for his shop. She was wondering if Malfoy would have to show his Mark or something, but the man seemed to recognize him. She couldn't be less surprised. Malfoy said something again, and the man turned his eyes toward Hermione and gave a nod. She nodded back, completely confused, and then turned narrowed eyes towards Malfoy.

If he thought for a second that he was going to do this in Russian, she would not hesitate to pluck his hair out. Individually, with her tweezers, while rubbing Muggle-born germs all over his bald head. The man began walking towards a long counter at the side of the store, and Malfoy had to grab her arm to keep her from walking ahead of him. She rolled her eyes and was incredibly tempted to trip him, but she could wait until later.

The man walked behind the counter, and Malfoy seemed to catch the threat of her thoughts and casted a Translation charm on himself. Hermione and the man did the same, and she wasn't sure if his brown eyes were brighter in the new lighting or from whatever Malfoy had said to him.

"Go on and show him, Mother," Malfoy told her, and it took her a second to realize he was talking to her. _That_ brought an entirely new level of strangeness to this whole situation.

She pulled the small wooden box from her pocket and set it on the counter. The man was frowning as he studied the etches in the wood, but the excitement returned when she began to open it. The hair slide sat on black velvet inside, and the diamond flowers and swirling crystal vines glimmered in the light. It really was a beautiful piece of jewelry, even as a fake. Hermione turned it toward the man slowly, as Malfoy glanced back over their shoulders.

The man's eyes grew impossibly wide. He stared at it for several seconds before raising his wand. Hermione drew hers halfway out of her sleeve before his wand settled above her head, and he rushed out Locking spells on the door. His eyes settled back onto the hair slide in a second, and he thankfully missed her reaction.

His hand had a slight tremble when his fingers stretched out toward the box, and Hermione didn't know if it was his age or his excitement. Malfoy reached over, tucking his finger into the ridge of the top, and pulled it back.

"I trust you recognize it."

"Absolutely. I'm…" The man seemed to realize where he was, and in what company, and his face became blank of expression. "I'm interested in this piece, Mister Malfoy. I will have to test it, to verify."

"Of course. There are other shops who wish to see it today, however, and business to attend to. I can only give you a quarter hour. If that is not sufficient--"

"Oh, yes, that's fine. Someone brought in a rather crude copy two weeks ago. It took only a minute to know."

Hermione shot Malfoy a glance to find him sending her a quick glare. Like it would be all her fault if he found out it was a replica. There was no way she would have stolen the actual one from the Ministry, just to sell it to some Dark Arts store. The copy was practically flawless, and Malfoy hadn't said a word when he emerged with it from the bathroom. It wouldn't hold up under extensive testing, but fifteen minutes wouldn't allow the man that much.

Hermione waited impatiently as the man threw countless spells at the hair slide, trying to stop herself from shifting with nerves and her desire to get out of there as soon as possible. Her heart was beating quickly in her chest as she watched the man's every move, waiting for any flinch that would tell her he figured it out. If it hadn't been for his eyes moving, she would have thought someone had cursed Malfoy into stillness. Dark figures moved past the windows, outlined by the faint light outside, but it was silent within the shop. She repeatedly checked her watch, counting how long he had been working on the hair slide, and how long since she had drank the potion. Malfoy began to tap his finger against the counter - it was silent, but still timed to second intervals, and she wanted to slam the heel of her palm down onto it.

"Are you finished?" It had only been eleven minutes when Malfoy asked.

The man looked up, a faint redness in his cheeks. "Yes, I believe so. It is a very fine--"

"This is what I'm requesting. There are no negotiations." Malfoy slid a piece of parchment across the counter, and Hermione gave him a sharp look. They didn't exactly have room to demand things - if whatever Malfoy requested was too high, or--

Something clinked against the counter, and Hermione watched a thin vial of

liquid roll into the finger the man had pressed onto the parchment. Brown eyes narrowed for an instant, and then his eyebrows rose on a high forehead. "Very well. I find these terms acceptable. If you will hold, for just a moment."

The man turned, and they watched him walk across the shop and disappear behind a door. "Veritaserum?" she hissed, and Malfoy looked bored when he turned his head toward her. "That's--"

"Intelligent? I know. Do you really think he would give us the truth without it?" "If he didn't, he would know that we would come back here and--"

"Don't be nave. It's annoying," he snapped, and her indignant reply was cut off by the door opening.

The man walked back toward them, and set a large money bag in front of Malfoy.

It clunked heavily against the counter, and Hermione wondered just how much he had asked for. Not that it mattered anyway, since it would be going back to the man once he figured out the truth.

"Straight from the vial," Malfoy demanded, glancing at the man's teacup.

He hesitated, for just a second, but it was enough to curl a malicious and knowing smirk on Malfoy's face. The blond opened the bag and peered in at its contents before pulling the drawstring to close it. He casted a Silencing spell and a Feather charm on it before dropping it into his pocket.

"Very well," the man whispered, popping the cork off the vial, and took a sip.

Hermione waited for a moment, dropping her wand into her palm. All was fair in war. "What is all you know about the Vietnamese antique collection from the Fifteenth Century?"

Hermione turned her wand toward Malfoy, concentrating intensely to cast it silently before the man could begin talking. _Confundo_ , Hermione thought, swirling her wand, and forgot what she was doing a second later.

She blinked at the man and his drooping face. His eyes reminded her of the old bloodhound dogs, with the skin sagging so much that the eyes might just fall out at any second. She was supposed to be concentrating on the words he was speaking right now and not slouching like she was, but she didn't know why it was important. Where was she again? And why had she bought something so expensive? This robe

was definitely out of her price range, and why in all the world was she standing next to Malfoy? Something about the hair slide. Or was it a hair comb? What she really needed right now was to go home. She didn't know why she needed to go home so badly, but she really needed to leave.

The man was holding out a piece of parchment, and Malfoy was the first to take it. She lifted her hand to her head and shook it, before turning for the front door. No, that was an aisle, the counter again, and…there it was. She walked out of the shop, and the bloodhound man started unlocking the door. Why had he locked it? She pulled the door open, and had to dig her feet in to get the door to obey, though she could have sworn Malfoy had opened it like it was as light as cardboard earlier.

She didn't know which direction to go, so she turned randomly, a headache roaring up between her temples. People were staring at her, and Malfoy was following her, and she didn't know why she thought it was a problem that she was walking ahead of him. Oh yeah, she was supposed to be acting like Narcissa, so she had to stay… The hair slide, and the shop, and…

Hermione whirled around, finding Malfoy frozen two steps away. The parchment was clutched in his hand, and… Had her spell backfired, or had he cast the charm on her as well? There was no way hers would have backfired. That _sneaky little ferret!_ Now they had both completely missed whatever the man had said, and the only thing they got out of it was confusion and…

Hermione's eyes widened, and she took two leaps forward just as Malfoy was crumpling the parchment into his fist. His arm shot down toward his pocket, but she launched herself forward, digging her fingers into his wrist and grabbing the note with her other hand. He tried to jerk his arm away from her and turn his body, but she followed, stomping on his foot and slamming her shoulder into his chest.

"Give…me…" "Fucking… _animal_ …"

The parchment ripped between their grasps as Malfoy shoved a palm into her shoulder. She tripped over her feet, landing on her bum with half the note between her fingers. She launched herself to her feet as Malfoy took a step toward her, and shoved the parchment deep into her pocket. They drew their wands at the same time, both of their faces turned fierce.

"I knew you would try some sort of trick!"

"Oh, as much as you knew you would be?" Malfoy barked. "Consider this the last time I ever lower myself to work with you!"

" _Lower yourself_? I'll be washing your conniving, hypocritical _dirt_ from--" Malfoy cut off, glancing to his right.

Hermione glanced as well, not wanting to look away from Malfoy's wand for too long, and had to take a second glance. Their argument had brought a lot of attention to themselves, and she realized that she was still under Polyjuice and looked close to murdering her son. Not only that, but the man inside the antique shop was bound to recognize the replica for what it was any minute now. She met Malfoy's eyes with an angry fire just as bright, and they both Disapparated without another word.

**March 6; 8:06am**

Hermione squinted her eye at the peephole of her door and barely restrained the groan that bubbled up her throat. She closed her eyes, resting her head against the wood, and took a deep breath, before taking down the locks and enchantments.

Annabell gave her a perplexed look once she threw open the door. "Did I wake you?"

"My alarm didn't go off," Hermione lied, ushering her partner in, and closing the door behind her. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back."

"Do you want me to come back later?"

"Absolutely not. Just give me a couple minutes, and then we can discuss our findings. Sit down, make yourself at home."

Hermione stumbled her way back toward her bedroom, rubbing her hands over her face. She had been up until two hours ago, buried in books and a mess of parchment. The wall by her desk was covered in Post-it notes, and she had copied the rumors down in bold black marker on a big board above her desk. She looked like she had gone insane last night with her mad scribbling all over the place, and books lying open all over her floor. She was careful not to step on them on her way toward the dresser.

The half of parchment she had won - and she really did consider it a win, since she'd had to _battle_ him for the thing - had seemed to be the better half. While she only got a _bey_ for what she assumed was a name, she managed to get ' _lzano, Italy_

for the place. She had found five places in Italy that ended with _lzano_ , but it was far better than the letter or two that Malfoy was working with. She was pretty sure that the location was Bolzano, Italy - it was the biggest city of the _lzano_ s, and whoever _bey_ was, they would probably want the benefits a city has in being able to disappear. People noticed your existence a lot less than in a small town, and after all this work, she was pretty sure Bey didn't want to be easily found. If this was right, then the only letters Malfoy had on his half was _Bo_. Just in case he decided to contact her for some _mutually beneficial crap_ again, she was fully prepared to convince him her parchment said _risoglebsk, Russia_ and send him on his way. Even if he didn't give her the real name on his parchment, he might believe her, and waste time in Russia while she was off being miles ahead of him.

She had expected him to try something on their little mission, but she had been hoping she would get to him first. It had been the perfect moment and she had been planning it out since she first agreed to the whole thing. Nothing illegal, but just enough to get what she needed without him getting it too. She had figured that he couldn't really do much until after they got the information, and if he didn't try anything at all, it was a bit of revenge for what he pulled with that woman. She hardly cared if she tried to sabotage Malfoy. He didn't deserve her assistance or something as incredible as _guilt_. Not after everything he'd done and everything he tried to do. Not when the repercussions of _him_ finding _this_ plant were so great.

_If it exists, of course_ , she reminded herself.

She pulled off her oversize T-shirt and shoved her pajama shorts to the floor.

Jeans, bra, and shirt, and she was back out in the living room again. Not much could be said for getting dressed in the dark, but she didn't think Annabell appreciated her paint-stained jeans, or that her shirt was on inside-out. Hermione tried to ignore this, reaching down for the Styrofoam cup with the teabag waving from it and thanking her. She tried to give a nonchalant look around the living room, making sure there wasn't anything out that Annabell might question. Hermione didn't want her to know she had been doing half of the investigation on her own and keeping it from her. Some things, like working with Malfoy, were better left unknown. She was also afraid that if they got too close to finding out if it was real, her partner would tell the Department heads, and the case would be given to someone with more experience. Hermione didn't trust anyone else to do the job she knew she could do.

"I'm sorry for waking you, but this was our planned time."

"No, I know. I was up late. I think I forgot to set my alarm." She had been so tired by the time she crawled into bed, she had only been thinking of things like soft blankets and fluffy pillows.

"I see. Did you find out where Flora was from?"

"It's hard to pinpoint an exact location, but I believe Sabina, or mo--"

"She was a Goddess of the Sabine, so that makes sense. Though, you know, there are arguments that the Sabine were originally Greek, or that some--"

"Yes, but Flora is considered a Roman Goddess. The Sabine were mostly settled in the modern region of Lazio, near Rieti. I've secured a Portkey to Rieti, and also to Norcia, the second likeliest place, which was originally inhabited by the Sabine."

Annabell's hand flew as she wrote what Hermione said word-for-word. "There was only one name and place that matched up - Laila Kristoffersen, in Haslev…Zealand, Denmark. The town is completely Muggle."

"So we'll start in Haslev, and then we'll go to Rieti, then Norcia." "You want to go to Rieti and Norcia before anything else?"

"Well…" Hermione gave her a confused look. "Haslev, and then those two."

"I thought it would be more intelligent to find where the people are first, and then go there. People can move, but these other places aren't going anywhere."

Hermione almost disagreed based on the _more intelligent_ comment alone. "If these people are involved, it isn't likely that we will find them anywhere publicly known anyway. But if you want to try that first, then sure."

Hermione shuffled some loose papers together in the silence that followed. She could hear Annabell's nails scraping against Styrofoam, and it was giving her a headache. She'd just woken up after only two hours of sleep - Hermione wasn't in the greatest of moods.

"Do you want to go now? To Haslev."

"Now?" she squeaked, surprised and just a little appalled. "I don't have anything else planned for the day, so--"

"Oh. I, actually, I have a meeting. With my…Healer. Just a routine checkup, really. Tomorrow would be better." Hermione tried to slow the rapid blinking her eyelids liked to throw themselves into whenever she was lying and grasping at

anything that could work.

"All right. I'll look up the locations for some of these names today, then.

Tomorrow at…nine?" A whole extra hour in her attempt to never see Hermione in her pajamas again.

"Nine… Yeah, that's fine." "Are you sure?"

Hermione gave a sour look to a smudge of red paint by her kneecap. She wasn't sure what kind of tone Annabell had in her voice, but she knew it wasn't one she liked. "Yes."

**4:43pm**

When Hermione arrived at Bolzano, she did the only logical thing she could - went to the antique shops. The only things that looked new in any of them were items from fifty years ago, a baby an owner was holding, and the sheer size and perkiness of one woman's breasts, which Hermione had some serious questions about. When the antique places didn't turn up anything, she visited monuments, castles, and churches. She talked to locals, got yelled at by a tourist, and had no idea what she was looking for.

It wasn't until she started talking to a woman at a boutique that she finally got somewhere with her question about anything interesting happening in the city. The woman had whispered the directions to an Asther _bey_ 's home over a rack of fur coats, and Hermione had only gotten lost twice before she found the place. She had been standing outside, knocking on the door to the tiny house, for five minutes now with no answer.

She stared at the brass door handle and grasped it, feeling it give with the turn of her palm. She pushed it open a fraction and let go of the knob, the door falling open on its own. She was caught between slamming it shut and standing there like an idiot, until she saw the inside of the place.

"Hello?" she called, looking at the cardboard box half-filled with fabric and candles. "Astherbey?"

She wasn't sure if she should just leave and come back later, or risk entering.

Astherbey would probably jump out from around some corner and try to attack her, or call the police and have her arrested for trespassing. Hermione had a very bad

feeling, which was only aided by the box and a few quills and hair bands scattered on the floor.

"Hello? Are you okay?" She felt stupid for asking this to no one, but did anyway, in case anyone was inside. She wanted them to assume she was about to step inside to check on their safety and not to raid their home.

She drew her wand and stepped over the threshold, the scents of rosemary and jasmine floating out to greet her. Her eyes scanned the darkening entryway quickly, and it was on her third step inside that she caught the flash of white. Her head snapped in that direction, and her mouth dropped.

_Girl: I will always see you coming, so you should stop wasting your time now_.

Hermione reached out and grabbed the note, pulling it off the wall. The tack fell to the floor, skittering to a halt at one stranded high heel. She read it again, three times, and then her eyes glazed as she remembered the rumor list - the Seer, it had said. The woman at the boutique had said Astherbey was charging an obscene amount of money for predictions that always came true.

The antique trail had led her here. Which meant that Astherbey was using the plant to see the future, but also to travel in time. Unless the person was a Seer, who had discovered something that could take them back in time farther than a Timeturner would allow. That could have spurred on all the rumors about the plant. It seemed that Astherbey wasn't using it for anything other than wealth, but she couldn't be sure. The one thing that infuriated Hermione more than the note, was the fact that she couldn't _know_. If Astherbey was going back in time and changing things, then Hermione couldn't possibly know what they were, or if it was going on at all. She _had_ to find this person. Even if it was something else and not the plant, she _needed_ to find out.

She searched the house and found nothing of importance.

**March 7; 9:03am**

Hermione was pacing her front door when Annabell gave a hesitant knock. She opened it with a muttered greeting and grabbed her coat, not bothering to look until someone cleared their throat in a very un-Annabell way. Hermione snapped her head toward the male sound, and found Harry grinning back at her, and a rather bashful and red-looking Annabell.

"Harry… It's Sunday, shouldn't you be having a lie-in right now?"

His grin fell and he glared at her, sliding past the rude shoulder she had angled in front of the opening to her flat. "You couldn't go to lunch, so you said dinner. You couldn't go to dinner, so you said breakfast. I dragged myself out of bed at nine on a Sunday for it, even. I thought you would be proud of this morning maturity, and instead I get a _what are you doing here_?"

Hermione smacked her forehead. "I thought it was tomorrow."

"Right, because I'm usually not working at nine on a Monday," Harry muttered, sarcasm far too heavy for such an early hour.

It wasn't even that early, but she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. After the edge of her exhaustion had been taken off, her brain had overpowered her need for sleep. She kept dreaming of a big, red monster eating clocks and…asparagus, whatever that was doing in there. When she wasn't dreaming, she was thinking, and planning, and getting frustrated at her lack of knowledge.

"Just admit it - you forgot."

Hermione sighed, plopping down next to him on the couch. "I'm sorry, Ha--" "What is it? Your assignment? You always get like this when you become obsessed

over something, like O.W.L.s or--"

"You sound like Ron now. I'm not obsessed, I'm just dedicated to my work." "Right. What is it?"

"I can't say."

"We work in the same department. Maybe I can hel--" "No, no. It's nothing major, it's--"

"Should I go?" Hermione had actually forgotten that Annabell had been standing there.

Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised with just a slight narrowing to his eyes. She shoved him in his shoulder and sighed, pushing herself off the couch. "Let's go. Annabell, do you want to come to breakfast with us?"

"Oh, er… I already ate."

"Can you meet me back here in two hours?" Harry seemed a little more pleased now that she wasn't going to rush them.

"Yes, I can do that. Two hours." Annabell turned and rushed on before them.

Harry threw his arm around her shoulders as they listened to her shoes clicking down the staircase. "Your partner?"

Hermione sighed.

**1:23pm**

Hermione was getting very sick of this, and she was pretty sure it was just the beginning. She knocked the side of her fist into the top of the sign, and Annabell knocked on the door again. "I don't think she's living here anymore."

"No, probably not. The lawn looks like it's been abandoned," Hermione had seen a lot worse from homes where people definitely lived, "and there's a sign for it to be sold."

Hermione was contemplating Annabell's reaction to any suggestion that they try to peek inside, when a whistle cut off any train of thought. They both looked towards the house next to them and the man standing on the porch.

"I'm sorry, what?" Annabell asked, and he paused at the English. Hermione knew what he meant the moment he lowered his fingers from his forehead and touched his chest.

"Thank you," Hermione waved and nodded, turning to leave. "She's dead." "That's sad. But…if she had the Dominus Temporis, she wouldn't be dead. So…"

Annabell trailed off, and Hermione could heard the fabric of her coat as she

shrugged.

"Unless there's a certain way you have to use it or combine those magical properties with something else for immortality. If she didn't know what that was… Or she did, but someone killed her for it." Hermione wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, tucking the ends into her coat, and shoved her hands into her pockets.

Annabell gave her a look of soft amusement, pushing her glasses up as they turned onto the street. They would Apparate to the library when they passed all the

shifting curtains, and try to find locations for any of the names. Tomorrow, they should go to a Muggle one, and see what they could find in any newspaper archives.

"Right. At least we just have to investigate the rest of the rumors, and then we'll be done. Two down."

"Right," Hermione muttered, glancing back at the house. Death was also a great way to keep hidden without people asking questions.


End file.
